Elaborate Lives
by Kanna-Ophelia
Summary: Life's not easy for a Hufflepuff who knows she's a Slytherin at heart. Either Molly or Lucius could offer Narcissa a route to salvation or.. .something else... but shadows inside are not so easy to chase away. saffic femmeslash, AU, abandoned.
1. Prologue and First Steps

**+Elaborate Lives+**

Notes: The Prologue and Epilogue to this story areset immediately after "Chamber of Secrets." AU all the way, baby, and now unlikely to be finished.

Disclaimers and Warnings: The HP characters aren't mine, and the description of the game the Hufflepuff girls play is strongly based on the advertising blurbs of a real game, Lovers' Secret Garden, sold by cyber adult shops everywhere. Not that I ever browse them… Oh, and this story contains femmeslash/lesbian/yuri content. Homophobes, consider this fair warning.

Dedications: To my beloved Floria, for sweet memories of reading Harry Potter together, and to Asterix, to whom I just kept promising to write something Potterish…

**ELABORATE LIVES**

**Prologue**

Narcissa Malfoy murmured, "Yes, dear," without any kind of conscious order from her brain, and stared at her fingernails. She realized two things with the same kind of dull annoyance. One was that the porcelain nail on the index finger on her left hand was beginning to split, and she would have to make an appointment to have it fixed. The other revelation, which seemed no more dramatic or important but merely inconvenient, was that she hated her husband.

She had always known she disliked him. Somewhere, there might be lesbian witches who were quite fond of their husbands, who were content with their choice of marriage, easy conception of pureblood children and social position. They probably weren't married to Lucius Malfoy, which would of course make all the difference in the world.

Now, listening to Lucius rage about Dumbledore and Potter, she felt her resentment and scorn of him slowly congeal into a satisfyingly ugly lump of hatred. She almost liked it; it was something quite delightfully hideous and uncontrolled in her pristine life. She imagined it spilling over the cream marble floor, as black and putrid as… her husband's heart. And hers, just perhaps.

She hadn't responded to his rantings for too long. Careless of her, but then, Narcissa had always had a dangerous tendency to lose focus at stressful moments. She caught Lucius' suspicious gaze, and said, her voice it's usual soft, detached drawl, but coming straight from her newly recognised hatred this time, "Was endangering the child of such an old wizarding family… wise, my dear?"

Draco's bloodless face twisted into a sulky pout. It was an expression that he was much too old to get away with, his mother reflected. "Who cares? She was only a Weasley – they would just breed another within a week. They're like cockroaches."

Narcissa stared blankly at her son and tried to decide if she hated him too. She had always had the ability to separate some icy, conscious part of her mind from her emotions, as if they belonged to someone else. As if there were two Narcissas, the feeling hurting Narcissa, and this cool woman who watched and analysed her emotions as a fascinated observer. It was useful, in the life she led. Trophy wife to one of Voldemort's formerly open supporters wasn't a particularly easy job in the present anti-Dark Magic, pro-Muggle political climate.

Now she sifted through her emotions with almost clinical detachment, analyzing them. For her son Draco she felt anger… disgust… pride and disappointment tangled together so closely she could not, even in her strange mood, unravel them… and something strong, dark, passionate… Not hatred, but pure love, the overwhelming rush of tenderness she had felt when she first held him to her breast, still live and strong. Her child, her blood, her precious baby… She loved this weak, pathetic little bully of hers, with his fractured ego and inadequate spite, with a deep and passionate emotion that meant she would give up anything… anything… to try and shield him from himself, from his father.

Even remain married to Lucius…

Draco's personality problems, intrusive as they were, weren't, in all fairness, entirely Draco's fault. There was real potential in the child, potential that still shone suddenly through the dull layer of his brutality and his heavy-handed attempts at wit. Draco had quite good brains under his stupid behaviour and maybe, just maybe, some remaining decency under the putrid layers of spoiling, and despite his terminally chipped shoulder. She sometimes glimpsed, through her fiercely protective love, the child he might have been if he had had a different father. If he had not grown up with the excruciating burden of being constantly told he should be better than others – and wasn't.

Maybe she had helped destroy Draco herself, spoiling him in a futile attempt to make up for Lucius' lack of love, ruining what she loved best…

We have only each other, weak though we are, Draco, she told him silently. Your father is not on our side, whatever he himself may think.

She carefully inspected the perfect false nails on her other hard, smooth and beautiful and unreal. The part of her mind still attending to the conversation, with almost ravenous concentration, as if she could split her mind into pieces as well as her soul, noted that Lucius was attempting heavy wit on the subject of Weasleys and inbreeding. She considered pointing out that the Weasleys might have married distant cousins, but at least they still had chins. In the end, she decided against it. She could not – would not – hurt her son like that, even to slap out at her husband.

She abruptly snapped back to full, sharp concentration, the shards of her soul cleaving into one again. Lucius was talking directly at her, his eyes hard with concentration and vindictiveness.

"I wish that whining redheaded brat had died," he said. Scrutinising her for any giveaway sign of reaction, letting her know that his hatred of the Weasleys was as much her fault as any Muggles, that if the child had died, it would have been because of Narcissa.

Molly Weasley's only daughter might have died - because of her.

Narcissa rose and left the room, not caring that Lucius, who was still speaking, let his eyes spark with cruel amusement as she left, or that Draco was calling after her. She laid herself on her bed, perfectly manicured hands fisted, and let the painful tide of memory sweep her back to Hogwarts.

Chapter One. "Hogwarts: Playing Elaborate Games"+

Narcissa, who tried to be as perfect in her studies as in everything else, was trying to study. But her Arithmancy book might as well have been written in Muggle computer code for all the sense it made to her this night. Her thoughts were trapped familiar tracks.

"C'mon, Cissy, it's bed time. And I have something to show you girls." Molly Weasley's round, pretty face was suffused with laughter, eyes almost as bright as her hair.

Of course it was Molly. After all, no other female in the Hufflepuff common room spoke much to Narcissa, and certainly never called her Cissy. She was too cold, too unfriendly, locked in her shell, too un-Hufflepuff… And too obviously burning with resentment that she had been put in the wrong house.

Looking up into Molly's sweet, unquestionably Hufflepuff face, Narcissa's cheeks burned at the memory of the last half hour. She had the humiliating suspicion that Molly was making an effort to cheer her up after her humiliation at the hands of Professor Profuse.

Narcissa had attempted one last appeal to be reassigned to Slytherin or even Ravenclaw. Anything but Hufflepuff, the house for nobodies, people who all that could be said of them was that they were not brave, not smart, not ambitious, just… nice. And she had been there for five bloody awful years, despite her repeated attempts to be moved. She wasn't going to graduate as a Hufflepuff, she couldn't.

Niceness was for weaklings. Narcissa knew she wasn't weak, and she certainly wasn't nice. She was lava iced over, dangerous, she told herself. She had only been a child when she was assigned to Hufflepuff, it wasn't fair… She had told the senile old twit who ran her House exactly what she thought, and he had laughed.

"The Sorting Hat sees who you are, not who you tell yourself you are, Narcissa. I don't think you are as glamorously evil as you like to think yourself." He paused. "Neither as evil nor as glamorous." Profuse chuckled derisively. "You are lava iced over? Oh, to be an angsty teenager again, and not to find that kind of statement ridiculous."

Bastard. She hated him.

Molly's voice broke into the unpleasant thoughts. "Please, Cissy. You'd be happier if you at least tried to be friends." She touched the taller girl's arm, with something like affection.

It wasn't surprising Narcissa was unpopular, even in Hufflepuff, where absolutely everyone was usually enfolded in warm squishy liking. The other Hufflepuff girls had endured enough teasing from other Houses, and they weren't exactly happy about some of the things said by someone who was (supposed to be, only supposed to be, Narcissa amended furiously) one of their own, despite her own undisguised struggles to leave them.

And after all, why bother with a prickly loner? They had plenty of friends without her. In the end, they were Hufflepuffs, and if Hufflepuffs weren't always taken seriously, at least they were usually well-liked.

Of course the boys bothered with Narcissa, but that was different. Anyone with her golden slenderness would be bothered with, and by, boys. She hated them for their attentions, almost impersonally.

Only Molly insisted on, despite all the evidence, treating Narcissa as if they were friends. Even though she knew she was being pitied, Narcissa had eventually stopped even discouraging her. And Molly had wound herself around Narcissa's prickly soul, ignoring the spikes of resentment and bitterness as if they didn't even exist, until they were indeed something like friends. Until Narcissa found it was too hard to give up the little redhead's endless kindness and cheerful conversation… like refusing oxygen…

She had always known she was going to follow Molly. She closed her books and silently accompanied the other girl back to their dormitory. Isis and Karen were already perched on the end of Molly's four-poster bed, giggling, their faces rosy with amusement. "Did you tell her?" Isis demanded.

"Not yet." Molly pulled her robes and jumper over her head. Her bra, barely containing her ample breasts, dug into lightly freckled skin, a velvety layer of flesh over her ribcage.

Molly never cared what she ate, never worried about her figure or wore makeup. She claimed to enjoy life too much to fuss over irrelevant details like vanity. Narcissa, who ate sparingly, exercised daily, and never looked at her reflection without seeing every scrap of excess weight on her willowy frame, every flaw in her perfectly made-up face, often wondered how Molly, dumpy, carrot-haired and freckled, could look at her own reflection and smile. Narcissa scorned her for it, envied her, and dreamed about sinking her fingers and teeth into that luscious flesh…

She jerked herself back to attention. She was spacing out more and more lately, and it was beginning to worry her. But this could be important – she didn't like the way Isis was sniggering. Blue-eyed Isis had been the first to offer Narcissa friendship at Hogwarts, and had hated her ever since the rejection.

Narcissa had a Hufflepuff enemy. It was almost funny. Excpet that it wasn't at all funny to live with hatred in your own dorm.

"Karen bought a game," Molly explained, still undressing. She pulled her jeans down over wide hips, and turned to grin at Narcissa. Unfortunately, at just that moment Narcissa had been staring at the tiny red curls escaping elastic above softly dimpled thighs. She was forced to harden her face and look away, fighting embarrassment and lust.

"It's – a – dyke game…" Karen buried her head in Molly's pillows and choked helplessly. It was Isis who added, face smug with dislike, "So we thought you would enjoy it, Narcissa."

Molly frowned at her, in a flash of the temper that went with her warm temperament and hair. "Shut up, Isis. Cissy, it's only a fun game, to help girl friends become closer."

"Become girlfriends," Karen amended through her giggles.

Narcissa felt dull heat flood over her face, but of course they had realized. It would have been obvious. As long as they didn't also realize who the focus of her obsessions was… Fortunately, Molly had pulled on her nightgown by then. Narcissa flung back pale blonde hair and curled her lip in a well-practiced gesture.

"What is this game about, anyway?" she asked, as detachedly as possible.

Molly, seeing her bed was taken, plumped down on Narcissa's mattress. Hesitating slightly, Narcissa sat beside her. She was aware that she took altogether too much time to decide the correct innocent distance to sit from her friend.

Molly smiled happily at her, apparently unaware of how ridiculous Narcissa was making herself, and just glad Narcissa was, as she would put it, trying to fit in and get along with everybody. "It's called Garden of Gaia. It says it's a celebration of witches' femininity. It sounds like just what we want, doesn't it?"

Narcissa had to admit to herself that it sounded just like something that would appeal to Molly. With her small body already rich with curves – fat, the nasty part of Narcissa's mind inserted, while something connected directly to her centre corrected, lush – Molly oozed femininity. The lines of her body were as uninhibitedly female as Narcissa's were toned, pared down and contained by dieting and exercise.

"And it's to explore deeper levels of relationships with your girlfriends," Isis added, tones laden with meaning. "I bet that's just what Narcissa here wants, right, Cissy?" She and Karen exploded into giggles, and Narcissa felt her pale skin flood with blood.

"I don't understand what you think is so funny. It's just to become closer friends, right?" Molly asked in confusion, and Karen and Isis shouted with laughter.

"Goddess, Mary Weasley, you are just too cute to be true," Karen gasped, as Molly looked at her with wide-eyed confusion. Narcissa tried to be scornful of Molly's naivety, but her treacherously infatuated heart was too distracted by melting at her innocence. No one would know Molly was seventeen in a depraved world, to listen to her. Narcissa was entranced, and sad and angry at the same time. How could Molly be so dense – and so utterly adorable?

"What do we do?" Narcissa asked at last, and the two girls on the other bed collapsed entirely into hysterics.

Molly gave them a bemused look, and picked up the game. "It looks like Truth or Dare, only with counters and cards. You have to perform dares, or answer questions about," she looked closer, "your deepest feelings, desires and dreams."

Narcissa smiled calmly. She could survive that. She was an excellent liar. It might even be a useful exercise, especially if dear Isis told the truth. Blackmail was always useful. "Let's play, then," she suggested.

"And the game is enchanted, so everyone can tell if you're lying!" Molly added happily.

Narcissa flopped suddenly back on the bed. She was in big trouble.

_TBC_


	2. Hogwarts: Playing Games

ELABORATE LIVES PART TWO :ELABORATE GAMES

ELABORATE LIVES PART TWO :ELABORATE GAMES

Half an hour later, Narcissa was beginning to wonder why she had been so worried.In fact, she was feeling boredom begin to creep over her, and with it, a kind of resentful malice.Someone, she decided, was going to have to pay for her being so nervous for mop good reason. And for having to endure such an unprecedented period of bonding, teenage girl style.Surely they were too old for Truth and Dare, anyway.

Still, she reflected, as Karen began to relate with giggling and bushing tediousness her first kiss at the age of eight, there were compensations. For example, the fact that Molly was snuggled up next to her on Narcissa's bed.They were not actually touching, but they were so close Narcissa could feel her warmth through her nightgown.Or maybe, she warned herself, it was just obsession making her imagine things. Surely she wasn't that attuned to Molly's body.

She shifted away a little on the bed, and then wondered if she had imagined a slightly hurt pout flicker for a moment on the other girl's face.

"This is boring," Narcissa snarled suddenly, to cover her sudden guilt. 

"I wasn't finished yet!" Karen objected, but mildly. Molly was the only one in the room who didn't appear to be bored out of her brain. She was just transparently happy because her friends were all together playing.Sometimes Narcissa thought the redhead was an entirely different species to her.The Quintessential Hufflepuff, while Narcissa was… whatever she actually was.

"No, Our Narcissa is right," Isis drawled.Her pale blue eyes were sparkling mischievously in her dusky-complexioned face, the contrast both unsettling and oddly attractive." I think perhaps it is time to pull this up to the next level… And this will help." She climbed off Molly's bed and reached under her own, pulling out a bottle and four glasses.

Karen examined the bottle, and then stuck out her tongue."Irish Cream… ugh. Couldn't you have got a real drink, honey?You might as well get drunk on chocolate milk." She chuckled suddenly. "You'd think we were _girls _or something."

Isis shrugged. "So long as it works, who cares? Besides, we have to stop… some of us… being so very careful with our answers, right, Narcissa?"

Narcissa flushed a little. Of course the game was ensorcelled to prevent her actually lying, but she had been… rather careful with her choice of words. But then, that had been habit for very many years, since she was a young child. She didn't think a glass of chocolate –flavoured girlie drink was going to make much difference to that.

Molly was frowning slightly. "I don't drink much, you know that, Isis," she said, sounding more than a little disapproving.

Karen grinned at her, and squeezed her arm. "Come on, my sweet Molly, we're not trying to get you sozzled and seduce you.Well, _we _aren't." She sent a dancing look across to Narcissa, who wondered just what Isis had been discussing with the other girl lately. Surely she wasn't that transparent… "We just want to loosen you up a little, so the game is more fun. The next stage looks… kinda embarrassing."

"Leave her alone!" snapped Narcissa, resisting the urge to knock Karen's arm off Molly's arm. "She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't feel like." She wondered, with her usual detachment from her own emotions, if her irritation stemmed from humiliation at Karen's teasing, protective feelings towards Molly or possessiveness. She certainly didn't like watching the other girl touch her. 

Molly gave her an odd look, and then reluctantly said, "Just a tiny glass, then, Ise."

"Good girl!" Isis filled the glasses and passed them around.Narcissa felt as if she had lost some kind of contest, but she wasn't sure what. 

"If you get off your face, we promise to keep you safe from Narcissa," Isis added slyly.

Narcissa could feel her pale skin suffuse with blood.Karen might tease her in a friendly spirit, but she meant no harm by it. Isis, though, really did resent her. Like most basically nice girls, when she was rejected she could bear a grudge indefinitely.

Molly, oblivious to any bad feeling between her friends, merely smiled and gave her drink a tentative sip. "Ooh, this is nice… I wouldn't worry.Cissy wouldn't ever do anything to hurt me," she said confidently. She sent Narcissa a fond glance that made the blonde girl blush even darker, from pleasure this time.Bloody Molly, why did she have to be so dense… and so sweet?No wonder she liked Irish Cream.

Narcissa swallowed her own glass in two gulps, wincing at the sickly sweet taste.She suddenly wanted the night to be over. But it was Christmas holidays tomorrow, and curfews were relaxed. She probably had hours of this bizarre torture left.Sighing, she held out her glass, and Isis refilled it.

"Okay, now," Karen said, picking up the instructions again."If we're ready to move onto the next stage, we shuffle in *these* cards with the questions already set, and we also add these cards for if anyone rolls a six. Ready, Molly?"

""kay…" Molly leaned over and threw the sparkling little die, her left breast incidentally brushing against Narcissa's right arm as she did so. Narcissa pretended not to notice."Six!" the redheaded girl crowed happily, taking another sip of her drink. "What do I do now?"

Molly's playing piece, a pink teddy bear, skipped over to the pile of questions, and lifted the top one."Dare!" it squeaked happily."You have to choose one of your friends to kiss on the mouth." 

There was a silence, as Molly's round face slowly turned pink. "Any friend?" she asked.

"One playing the game," the teddy bear clarified, and ran to its new position on the board, losing its animation the moment it arrived. 

Narcissa stared at her hands, unable to look up, frozen in place. She felt Molly's warm gaze rest thoughtfully on her a long moment, and Isis' barely controlled glee across on the other bed.It must be fated that she kiss me, Narcissa thought dimly. Opposed fantasies warred in her head; Molly melting into her arms, realising this was what she had always wanted deep in her heart… Or herself, unable to control herself, kissing too deeply, and Molly pulling back in disgusted horror.

"Well, here we go!" Molly said brightly. "There's a first time for everything."

Nothing will happen, Narcissa told herself. She'll brush her lips against mine, and then it will be over. There's absolutely nothing to feel sick with anticipation over…

She had been right.Nothing did happen, except that Molly leaned across the gap between the two four posters, and planted an affectionate kiss on Karen's rosy mouth. It seemed, to the tortured girl on Molly's bed, to last for hours.

After hours, or seconds, the girls' lips parted.There was an embarrassed silence, as Narcissa felt pain lance through her, and then: "Why, Mary Weasley, who would have thought you'd taste like Irish Cream?" Karen asked. The mood was broken, and Narcissa was finally able to look away as the two girls dissolved into hilarity.

"That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" Isis asked. She was staring at Narcissa, and the expression in her pale eyes could have meant anything. Disappointment, unkind enjoyment, even sympathy… Narcissa decided that any emotion was a good enough reason to hate the other girl. She needed to hate someone, and hating Molly was quite impossible.

She drank off her glass without tasting the sweet liquor.Karen and Isis hadnot dares but questions, about who they had crushes on – both had a taste for Griffindor boys, apparently – and their turns passed without incident. Molly, Narcissa noticed absently, was getting decidedly merry, either out of relieved tension or because she was unused to drinking. Half a glass was apparently about her limit.Narcissa watched her pretty, rounded face, and wondered dully why Molly hadn't kissed her.

It was stupid to even think about it. After all, Molly hasn't kissed Isis, either… But her mind ran over the question with painful monotony, as the other girls teased each other, their games seeming miles away from her.Had Isis and Karen's teasing finally got through to Molly and made her realise that Narcissa was crazy about her? And, if so, did it mean she didn't dare kiss Narcissa for fear of hurting her, or because the idea disgusted her? Or, she thought sickly, maybe she really isn't as convinced we are friends as I thought, and maybe she takes my withdrawals seriously… Maybe she thinks I'd push her away in dislike, like I shrank away from her on the bed.

The thought hurt more than even the thought of being rejected by Molly. I want… I want her to keep trying to be my friend, no matter how often I push her away, she realised.I'm ridiculously messed up. If there ever was proof I shouldn't be in Hufflepuff…

"Hurry up and throw the die, girl!" snapped Isis. Narcissa blushed and threw it, hardly knowing if she wanted to roll a six or not.

She rolled a three. Her playing piece, the least sickeningly girlie she could find in the set – a little glass ballerina, delicate and slender– tripped across and chose a Confession card. 

The ballerina's tinkly little voice rang out. "Describe how you felt when Molly kissed Karen."

Narcissa resisted the urge to scream. "I don't believe it. How in the world could that be the question?"

Isis smiled at her, dark lips curving as slowly and provocatively as Narcissa's own practiced smile. "The game is enchanted to take into account things that happened previously. Why do you think we never get the same question twice?"

Narcissa glanced wildly around. Karen looked confused, pink and apprehensive. And Molly… Molly's eyes, slightly glazed with unaccustomed tipsiness, were very wide.

"I don't want to play anymore," said Narcissa, with uncharacteristic cowardice.

Isis' smile widened with triumph. She has me now, Narcissa realised, and she's going to make me squirm. "What are you afraid of, Cissy?"

"I – didn't care. Why should I?" Oh, that was stupid, Narcissa realised immediately the lie left her throat.As if the game would let her get away with that…Her playing piece was already scolding her in its high thin voice.

Isis' gaze never wavered. "It won't be quiet until you answer, Narcissa. You'd better tell us how it felt, or we'll none of us get any sleep."

Suddenly it felt more degrading, and more of a surrender, to keep trying to hide her feelings when Isis clearly saw straight through her to the humiliating truth. And the cold, distant part of Narcissa was telling her that if she confessed her feelings, it might finally shut them up, and take away Isis' only weapon against her. She said, softly and defiantly. "Okay, then, it hurt. It hurt like hell.I felt sick with jealousyand disappointment." She raised her golden head and said, proudly, "I wanted the first girl Molly ever kissed to be _me_."Molly gave a kind of gasping hiccup, and the ballerina, apparently satisfied, returned to inanimate glass. "And I don't want to play this stupid childish game anymore."

"I knew it." Isis punched the air. "Gaydar never fails."

"Leave her alone, Ise," Karen said in a small voice."I think perhaps we'd better get some sleep," she added awkwardly.

Narcissa felt rather than saw Molly stand and look down at her. "Cissy…"

"Go to bed, Molly," Narcissa said dully.

She collapsed on her own covers and lay there, hearing the other girls mutely finish getting ready for bed and blow out the candles. Then she lay and watched the hours go past, hating herself, hating Isis and even Karen. Karen had been willing enough to go on with the game until she pushed too far, after all. Yet Narcissa was still not able to hate Molly. After all, Molly was the one person who would never intentionally hurt her.

She wasn't even surprised when she heard Molly's voice saying softly, some time before dawn, "Cissy? Narcissa, are you awake?"

I knew she'd try and make me feel better, Narcissa realised bleakly. Molly never could resist a lost cause, or someone in pain… Yeah," she admitted. I might as well let her do her ministering angel routine now, or she'll never let it drop. Goddess, will this ever stop hurting?

She heard Molly move across the room, and felt her settle on the edge of the bed again. "Cissy, are you cross with me?" she asked in a slightly shaking voice. Narcissa had a sudden impulse to hug her better, and repressed it. . "I only… well, I thought the others would tease you worse if I kissed you."

"Cross? Molly… no. No. You did nothing…" Absolutely nothing, she added bitterly to herself, but be adorable, and kiss someone else. You probably deserve to rot in hell… But no, I'm not cross.

Molly sighed with what sounded like relief. "Isis didn't mean to upset you, you know," she said in something more like her usual voice. "She just lets her tongue run away with her sometimes."

"I doubt that very much."

"Oh, Cissy…" Molly sounded close to tears gain, and Narcissa felt a stab of guilt.. "I didn't realise. I never even thought you liked me much, really.But I liked you, despite… well, there was always something about you.I always thought you'd be a friend worth having, if you thawed a little.I always wished we could be real friends."

"So did I," Narcissa said. It was true, she realised, with some surprise. But she had never had the knack for making friends… Hufflepuff should be reserved for sweet giving souls like Molly, not hopeless misfits who couldn't even take friendship when it was offered without turning it into a weird obsession."I – I like you too… she added, hopelessly and inadequately.

"I know," Molly said, very gently."Narcissa, I kissed Karen… Would you like me to kiss you as well?"

"Yes." The words came straight from Narcissa's soul, without intervention from her brain.

The next thing Narcissa knew, she felt a warm mouth covering her own, softer and sweeter than she could ever have imagined.She dizzily realised that molly was kissing her, softly and lightly, again and again, until one kiss merged seamlessly into the next. She sighed, lips parting, and the kiss deepened.Her arms wound tightly around Molly's plump body, solid yet somehow yielding in its femininity, and strong arms slipped under her, gathering her up into a close cuddle.

Molly clung tightly and wept, for the first time in years.She held tight to the girl she loved and sobbed out all the loneliness and confusion of years. Her other self, the analytical distant Narcissa, was nowhere to be found, drowned in pain.

Molly held the shaking girl tight, shushing her gently, whispering "It'll be okay, please don't cry," over and over.

"I love you," Narcissa said, despairingly. "But please don't worry, I know you don't love me that way."

Molly tensed in her arms. "Cissy, it's more than that. You know my cousin Arthur… I'm so sorry, honey, so sorry."

"Oh, God." Narcissa didn't think it was possible to cry harder, but she did. Molly stroked her hair and rocked her gently, until her sobs stilled. She was tired, so very tired and drained she thought she could never move of her own accord again.

Narcissa felt gentle hands settle her back on the bed and tuck the blankets around her. As exhausted sleep claimed her, she felt a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Sleep well, dearest Cissy," Molly whispered, and moved back to her own bed.

****** ** *** **

Narcissa Malfoy touched the bell by her bed and called for a house elf to bring her a sleeping draught.She was exhausted, and she didn't want to follow her thoughts much further.Most particularly, she didn't want to be thinking of Molly Weasley when her husband came to bed.She didn't even want to be awake when he came to bed.

But her mind kept along the same track. Hurtling towards the Christmas break, and her first meeting with Lucius Malfoy…

TBC… 


	3. Narcissa's Home: Steps Towards Darkness

Chapter Three: Steps Towards Darkness ****

Elaborate Lives (3/?)

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Author's notes: Bet you thought you'd be spared this installment, eh? This is turning into the longest fic I ever wrote. More angst than is usual for someone who usually likes to think of herself as a writer of erotic comedy… poor Cissy… but to compensate, I've upped the rating a little. Not for any Lucius/Narcissa content, though, so if hetsmut squicks you, don't worry. :) And I'm still heading towards a happy ending… ::g:: Always darkest before the dawn and all that.

The usual dedication: My beloved girl, for love, ideas, help, incredible amounts of encouragement, and proofreading over MSN. Te amo…

****

==Chapter Three: Steps Towards Darkness ==

- Narcissa's Home, School Holidays -

Narcissa set her knife and fork on her plate, taking great care to ensure they were completely parallel, an oasis of silver perfection in the ruins of her meal. She received some pleasure from the act. Her life might be falling to pieces, but she could still keep things refined, elegant, and… nice. Not nice in the Hufflepuff sense, though.

She leveled one of her piercing stares at the young man opposite her. It was a *good* piercing stare. She'd copied it from one of her Slytherin friends, a girl who cultivated a ghoulishly wasted look, and who could make first year Ravenclaws faint with one glance of her heavily made-up eyes. Not that Narcissa would do anything as crass as apply black eyeliner and white face powder with a trowel in order to look exotic and evil, but she had worked hard on imitating the stare.

This young man, to do him credit, didn't seem at all intimidated. He smiled back, rather admiringly.

"I'm surprised I don't remember you from school, Narcissa," he said, with obviously practiced gallantry. "I thought I noticed all the most beautiful girls."

Narcissa forbore to point out that she had been twelve when Lucius graduated, noticing her in that way would have constituted some kind of child molestation. Instead she said, smoothly, "Perhaps you did not think Hufflepuff girls worthy of your consideration."

There was some pleasure in seeing his smooth face dissolve into shock. "You're a Hufflepuff?" Disdain dripped like rotted liquid candy from the last word.

Narcissa's mother hastened to intervene. "We believe there was some… problem… with the Sorting Hat. Narcissa obviously does not belong with those Hufflepuff sluggards. Of course, you know there is such prejudice against the old wizarding families these days, especially those traditionally belonging to Slytherin…" Her voice trailed off meaningfully.

Lucius nodded, apparently reassured. "It is almost a disadvantage to be of pure blood in these dark days," he said, his cold voice running along the words with the ease of long familiarity. "However, when things change, these Muggle-lovers will begin to realise that…"

Narcissa tuned out. So many of her mother's conversations seemed to end up running on the theme of Mud-bloods and the presumed persecution of the old wizarding family. Narcissa bore no malice, but she was slightly bored. She supposed her mother was right, but the constant repetition was mind-numbing.

The image drifted across her mind, soap-slippery, of Molly's outraged disgust if she could overhear the conversation. Her rounded face would flush blotchy red with fury, her eyes shift from comforting warmth to blazing fire. For all Molly's kindness, she lost her temper easily when she thought people were being mistreated, and her sympathy for Muggles was well known.

It might have been that thought that made Narcissa interrupt, abruptly, saying, "You think loyal wizards should not associate with Muggle bo – with Mudbloods?"

Lucius turned his pale gaze on her. "A certain amount of interaction is necessary, of course," he said, as if speaking to an adorable child. "We must be practical. But it does not do to taint ourselves too much by constant association. We should keep our distance."

"And, of course, it is important to keep the blood of the old families pure," her mother said, meaningfully.

Narcissa nodded, and considered Lucius again. She had no illusions about why Lucius had been invited to stay for the holidays. There would be nothing so crude as an arranged marriage. But Narcissa's mother had already started to introduce Narcissa to an assortment of wealthy, pure-blooded, unwed men. Narcissa understood her inevitable duty.

And, after all, the Mater had not done a bad job with this one. He was young, and extremely handsome in a cold, thin way, rather like Narcissa herself. He was intelligent and charming, and he had the same glamour of restrained wickedness that the girl so carefully cultivated in herself. Lucius was very attractive… if you liked that kind of thing. If your dreams weren't haunted by luscious female flesh, memories of satin-soft female lips… 

Narcissa was suddenly aware she'd been asked a question, and pulled herself to blushing attention. "I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere," she said smoothly.

"I quite understand," her mother said, beaming, and exchanging a glance with Lucius. Narcissa realised that she had been staring unfocussedly at Lucius while her mind slipped back to her shared kisses with Molly, and that she had in all probability had shown all her lovesick longing on her face. Of course they thought it was for him… She blushed more deeply still, and Lucius smiled, with satisfaction that slicked Narcissa's soul like frozen oil.

"If you will excuse me," she said, and left the table, hardly caring that she was being rude.

She needed to be alone with her thoughts. She had a decision to make, although there she could only make one choice. Molly would never be hers, after all. And what else was there after school for her but marriage? Her perfect grades and impeccable family would translate, at best, to some dull drudgery in the Ministry of Magic. Marrying someone like Malfoy would open another possibility, working to perfect, not a job or skills, but… herself… Narcissa saw herself in her mind's eye, a rich man's wife, a flawless artwork, sculptured body in exquisite clothes and unimpeachable manners, smoothly perfect… The detached watching Narcissa finally integrated with her feeling living self, so that pain and chaos could no longer touch her. Escape, of a kind.

It might as well be Malfoy as anyone else. And an engagement would be such a thoughtful Christmas gift for her mother.

Still, if she was supposed to feign love for Lucius Malfoy or one of his kind, she needed a little time.

* * * *

Three o'clock. The hour of the death of the soul…

Narcissa lay still, staring at her ceiling, trying to ride out the one hour when illusions melted away and only pain was there, raw and throbbing. Why do I love her? – why can't she love me? – eternal, clichéd questions that still sliced into her heart. If the detached part of herself laughed at her emotions for being so commonplace, so derivative, it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart or her core.

Molly… Surrendering, Narcissa gave herself over to thinking of her. So soft, everything about her, from the expression in her eyes to her glowing red hair to the full feminine curves of her body. And so warm… warm heart, warm eyes, warm skin, warm hair… And so delightfully, sinfully female. How could anyone, after loving that, resign herself to Lucius' cold hardness?

Narcissa parted her lips in the darkness and arched her neck back, moistening her lips, as though Molly's remembered kiss could meet hers, as if her tongue could slip into the other girl's offered mouth. Long months of communal living, with only brief hurried moments in the toilets to release the long aching tension of living so close to the object of her desires, at last built up into unbearable need. 

She slid her nightgown off hastily, kicked her knickers to the foot of the bed. The cool air failed to soothe her heat, instead caressing her body and raising tiny hairs to tingling pinpricks. Her hands followed the air, brushing the sides of her breasts – not the cold-hardening nipples yet – and down along sensitive ribs, the slender curve of waist and hips, just brushing her buttocks, until her arms were full extended and her hands rested on her thighs. 

"Molly…" she whispered, her mind doubling her body in desire, the hands on her body belonging to her beloved even as she imagined her hands were travelling over a smaller body with richer curves. "Sweet Molly." She let her fingers drift, with agonising slowness, upwards again, and then inwards, stroking over her stomach with shivery desire. Narcissa's mind replayed, over and over, the few shared kisses, the feel of the girl in her arms.

"Touch me," she whispered to the dark, and slid her hands up to cup her high small breasts, feveredly imagining them to be fuller and heavier, caressing and kneading and moving to work the peaks. But if it was Molly's lightly freckled breasts, Narcissa would have moved to take them in her mouth right now, ply them with gentle wet kisses and sharp bites and deep, hard, longing sucking… She moaned and dropped one hand to her sex, unbearably wet at the thought.

She spread her legs wide, bending her knees and drawing them up, her fingertips burrowing between her nether lips. She had only ever touched her clitoris before, masturbating out of simple need and as quickly as possible, but tonight Narcissa was obsessed by the thought of what Molly would feel like. The hidden secrets of her body… Narcissa breathed in hard, plucked at one nipple and began to press her index finger home.

Her internal muscles pulled back at her finger as she slowly slid it home, ignoring the burning pain. Long hours of broomstick lessons had ensured that there was no barrier to be passed, but she was tight, so tight she feared she could not penetrate herself even with one finger. But her body accommodated and her pain faded, leaving only sweet pressure and the wonder of her finger in a female body, even it was her own.

She had imagined something smooth and featureless – a hole or a tunnel, as crude phraseology put it. Instead, her core was complex and pulsing and alive… Did Molly feel like this, this delicious heat, this intense awareness of life? Narcissa explored cautiously, her mind filled with the same doubling. This is her finger inside me, this is her body I'm exploring, she told herself, hearing her own strangled gasps as her other hand moved to work her clit. 

For one frantic moment she saw Lucius, entering her with uncaring passion, an alien male presence inside her female body, but the image mercifully melted away into images of Molly, so beautifully feminine, with her wide hips and rounded stomach and gentleness. She eased another finger into herself, gasping with mingled pain and pleasure as she stretched tight, caressing her clitoris to temper the burning sensation with sweet pleasure. After all, she would be lovingly considerate with Molly, and it was not in Molly's nature to be anything less than gentle with her… She began to work her fingers faster and harder, scissoring and flexing them, forgetting to be quiet, her soft cries torn out of her heart. Molly's fingers buried in Narccissa, Narcissa's in Molly… One woman in pleasure…

She was already dancing inwardly, eyes squeezed shut so that she could only see the images imprinted on her eyelids, when one of her questing fingers brushed against a slight roughness inside of her. Stars exploded inside her head, and her fingers began to rhythmically work the spot, her hips thrusting upwards without her conscious control, her other hand almost bruising her clit as it rubbed and pinched the sensitive bud.

She screamed as the first orgasm reached her, not the simple release of tension she had known before but something that melded into the pleasure rocking her body, the longing in her soul. Narcissa could see nothing but Molly, leaning above her and smiling as she fucked her with those childlike plump fingers, and somehow at the same time beneath Narcissa, her back arched in helpless pleasure, her breasts shaken by her own thrusts, her head thrown back to expose her throat to Narcissa's mouth. So beautiful…

Narcissa came one last time, shuddering, her moans loud in her own ears. She let her fingers slip from herself, feeling her core still convulsing helplessly, her clit painfully tender now that the pleasure was ebbing. And there was no woman to take into her arms and cling to, no sweet loving mouth to soothe her with kisses and soft words. The phantom Molly slipped from Narcissa's mind, and there was nothing but a thin blonde girl on the verge of true adulthood, lying alone on her bed and stifling her sobs in her pillow.

* * * *

It was only much later, as she met Lucius' amused gaze across the dinner table, that she remembered that he had been stationed in the room next to hers, and would have heard her cries – and associated them with him. For a moment, her face burned with something like degradation… that night had been sacred to love, if unrequited love, and this smug bastard had no place in it.

But then, it would make everything easier if he thought so. And, after all, unrequited love was no true love at all, just a confused mess of longing and tenderness and obsession. And she was going to stop it, damn it. She was gong to become the woman she had always meant to be, not a whingeing, sentimental girl enslaved to her own hormones. And the first step was… Lucius Malfoy.

A few nights later, when Lucius asked her a certain question with calm confidence, the buried part of her that was unkillably Hufflepuff screamed in terror. For one long moment she almost saw clearly what she was committing to, the long slide into darkness, the slow murder of her own soul. But the watching Narcissa was firmly in control, at least for the moment. She allowed her mouth to be kissed, and Lucius' mouth was cold and hard, and her heart wept for another, gentler kiss from someone else entirely.

Well, such is life…

She lifted blank, uncaring eyes, produced the exactly suitable gracious smile, and said yes. 

- TBC

Feedback more than welcome, at princesskanna@hotmail.com


	4. Hogwarts: Resignation

Summary: Narcissa returns for her final term at Hogwarts, Lucius' ring on her finger.  
  
Notes: A fairly low-key, especially from the femmeslashy or romantic point of view, chapter… after a long delay, at that. But I have things planned for my little Narcissa…  
  
For my true love Floria, as always and forever.  
  
~ I'm so tired of all we're going through  
  
I don't want to live like that  
  
I'm so tired of all we're going through  
  
I don't want to love like that  
  
I just want to be with you now and forever, peaceful, true~  
  
- Elton John/Tim Rice, "Elaborate Lives"  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: RESIGNATION  
  
"Can I speak to you, Narcissa, please?"  
  
Narcissa glanced up from her work into the age-crinkled face of her Muggle Studies Professor and Head of House. She could feel curious gazes from around the room, as the other students wondered what Perfect Narcissa could have done wrong.  
  
"Yes, Professor Profuse," she said obediently, closing her book and rising to follow her teacher. Molly sneaked out a hand to pat an arm reassuringly, and Narcissa sent her a warm look in return. It gave her a barely tangible and quickly repressed buzz of happiness to be touched so casually.  
  
Profuse snapped a brusque order to the others to remain working, and Narcissa followed him into his own small office. She remained standing as the old man heaved his bulk into his chair.  
  
"Narcissa Hanover," the professor said heavily, and then was silent. Despite his extreme age and excessive weight, the old man would have been quite intimidating, if Narcissa was at all the kind to be intimidating. The level stare and unwavering silence began to unnerve even the normally unshakeably self-possessed girl.  
  
"Is something wrong with my work, Professor?" she asked at last, to break the silence.  
  
"No, Narcissa, your work is exemplary, as always. You are a very talented student, after all. I suppose you are aware that we are expecting your final results to be outstanding?"  
  
Narcissa didn't see why she should prevaricate about it. "Of course, sir. I study hard." One slim shoulder lifted and dropped.  
  
"Yes, you always do. A credit to your House, in fact… Quite the little hardworking Hufflepuff, aren't you, my dear?"  
  
Narcissa couldn't repress a wince, and Profuse's amber-brown eyes glistened with amusement. "But my dear, of course. As we have told you repeatedly, the Sorting Hat never makes a mistake. Dedication and perseverance are definitely Hufflepuff traits."  
  
"Then what exactly is the problem?" Narcissa usually restrained herself from snapping at teachers but she was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
"Narcissa… Are you happy at Hogwarts?"  
  
She shrugged. "Not particularly." She bunched her robes in each fists.  
  
He sighed. "Still in purgatory, then, Narcissa? I'm sorry."  
  
"So am I."  
  
But it was true that this, her final term, had been… better. Her engagement to Lucius had forever guaranteed her status among Syltherin friends that, until that point, she had secretly feared had barely tolerated the Hufflepuff among them. Lucius – handsome, of the ancient and pure-blooded Malfoys, the glamour of his school career still hanging over him – was undeniably a catch to be envied. And she, Hufflepuff or no Hufflepuff, had caught him, while still a schoolgirl. Narcissa had enjoyed the slightly malicious mixture of envy and admiration her diamond had caused.  
  
She had enjoyed, most of all, Bethany flaming into sudden hatred. Something about Bethany, with her artificially black hair and pallid makeup and general aping of a (hopefully) attractive corpse, offended Narcissa's sense of what was right about the world. Someone who had been assigned to Slytherin should be… content… not need to prove with powder and paint just how bad she really was. There was something essentially unconvincing about Bethany's self-conscious wickedness. And sometimes… just sometimes… the cold, watching consciousness inside Narcissa's head asked her if she and Bethany were really any different. She hated the thought – all the more so because Bethany had always been the closest thing to a real friend she ever truly had. So Bethany's clear jealousy and resentment had been a small satisfaction.  
  
The larger satisfaction had been, of course, when Bethany came crawling back.  
  
Still, it was not enough to balance out her hatred of the place. The lack of privacy, the other students… everything.  
  
There was no need to say any of this. She had a horrible feeling her Head of House already knew.  
  
Profuse slowly inclined that great, heavy, wrinkled head. "While you would not know it from our propaganda, Hogwarts is not the place for everyone. The conditions at Durmstrang would, perhaps, have been too – rough and ready – for your tastes, but I have no doubt that you would have fitted better in at Beauxbatons. It would, however, have been a waste of your intellectual ability to send you to a mere fashionable college. Your mother judged well. Hogwarts was really the only place for you. I regret, however, that you have found living here so difficult." He paused. "You must agree in any case, Narcissa, that your own attitude has largely contributed to your own unhappiness."  
  
Narcissa stared pointedly into space.  
  
He flicked a fingernail. "I understand that it is important to youth to believe it is particularly unique and special. As it may be, I have still been glad to see that you have at last formed a friendship with Molly Weasley."  
  
Narcissa at last flushed. Molly…  
  
Narcissa had been cravenly dreading seeing the little redhead as much as she had longed for her. It was… humiliating, to encounter your unrequited love once the beloved had found out your affection and unequivocally rejected you. But the ring on her finger had given her confidence. Flaunting it was flaunting her independence from her own messy emotions. Everything was sorted out now, her life and future in their proper compartments.  
  
Molly had greeted her eagerly, all sweetness and light, obviously only too willing to cancel out the embarrassments of painful memories. And then she had noticed the ring…  
  
It was a beautiful ring, and did credit to Lucius' taste and sense of what was fitting. A slender platinum band, hand-wrought, with a single huge, perfect white diamond set into the centre, the band itself studded with black diamond chips. It was expensive and delicate, a thing of beauty. Narcissa would catch herself turning her hand in the light to make the central diamond flash, with the darker glimmers of the black diamonds, and lose herself in its wonder for a moment…  
  
Only to remember what it symbolised, and put her hand behind her.  
  
But she was glad to wear it. It was the sign of her choice… A visible display of her fate.  
  
She had shown it to Molly while searching the girl's face with her eyes. Molly had reacted much as she had thought… Pleasure and congratulations mixed with uncertainty, that the girl she had been worrying about eating her heart out over her had found someone else so quickly. She was biting her full lower lip, obviously on the point of asking, but not feeling safe to voice the highly personal questions. All she did ask, in the end, was who the lucky… person… was.  
  
Narcissa hadn't really expected her to recognise the name. Lucius was well enough known among her Slytherin friends and her own rank of society… but a Weasley? She wasn't expecting Molly's face to change with distress.  
  
"*Him*? Oh, Cissy..."  
  
"What exactly is wrong with Lucius Malfoy?" Narcissa had asked, her hauteur undermined by curiosity and a certain delight that Molly was showing so much concern for her welfare. "He is of impeccable lineage, after all."  
  
"He and Arthur… Oh, I can't talk about it. It's not my secret…Why Narcissa, really – do you really love him, honey?" There was a quite adorable crease between her brows.  
  
But she had mentioned the wrong name. Narcissa had felt the frost slick back over soul.  
  
"You know perfectly well who I love. And it is irrelevant. I must do the best I can under painful circumstances. And in the end… it will be better for me, don't you agree?"  
  
Molly looked at her with hurt, troubled eyes. "I can't believe Malfoy is better for anybody… Oh, don't be mad, Cissy." An arm slipped through hers. "I want this term to be better for us both… And after all, there's time enough," she had added, quietly.  
  
Narcissa had felt some of the frost melt at the girlish touch. And, oddly enough, from then it had been… different. From some unspoken understanding – although Narcissa was sure Molly had asked Karen and Isis to back off – she was in the curious position of being someone's "best friend." Possibly it wasn't normal to ache quite so much over your best friend at night, as she did over Molly's elusively earthy sweetness. But any resulting pain was nothing compared to the strange pleasure of having someone always by your side, an affectionate giving presence.  
  
Of course that, she realised later, was exactly what Molly had always offered her. It was her own fault that she had rejected it at first, only to greedily grasp for more after her first real taste. Every so often she felt little unaccustomed pinpricks of guilt at how eagerly the red-headed girl had accepted her uneasy offer of friendship. Wrapped up in her superior isolation, sneering at Isis and Karen's girlishly chummy companionship, it had never occurred to her that someone as easygoing and giving as Molly might have felt left out as well.  
  
And it had all been precious – so precious. It was a humiliating thing to admit to yourself that  
  
Now… she smiled into Profuse's face, as if the whole subject wasn't chaos and aching sweetness to her. "Molly is a good friend," she said neutrally.  
  
"I'm more glad than I could say, Narcissa, if you have started to relate to others a little." His eyes were far too intelligent, but she was not weak enough to waver. "But it doesn't solve the central problem… What are you r plans after leaving Hogwarts? Have you considered a career? With your talents…"  
  
She raised her hand, let the diamond's gleam carol its song in the tawdry room.  
  
"Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy – I had heard." Profuse shifted in his seat. "Do you not feel that it is a waste of your talents, to see marriage as your only career?"  
  
"I feel that it is not my teacher's business," she said coolly.  
  
"You are perhaps right." He did not seem embarrassed. "But it is the duty of the Head of the House to look after the welfare of its students… Narcissa, may I be honest with you?"  
  
"I would question why you felt you had to be anything else."  
  
"Then, Narcissa, you know little about the job of caring for children – for a child you still are, my girl." There was a long, ponderous silence, but Narcissa was not to be made uneasy so simply. She waited, her surface tranquil, a blonde, expressionless beauty. At last he said, "Prediction is an uncertain science at best, as you know. If there is darkness, it would seem to be around you, but intimately concerning you – at this stage, Narcissa, it is still your choice whether it is something you embrace or choose to deal with in other ways. You are intelligent enough, I feel, to take my meaning."  
  
She could feel anger gathering in her soul. Interfering old man… That he should suggest such things, on such a shaky and intangible ground as a foretelling, was impossibly impudent. She hated this school, hated the fact that this man could make her stay and listen, for no reason other than the accident that he was employed as a teacher. She could feel her middle fingernails slice into the tender underskin of her thumbs. "I would not make a very good Auror, I fear," she said with measured sweetness.  
  
"No." His mouth quirked at the corner, between sadness and amusement, and her nails ground more deeply into her thumbs. She should be careful, or she would make herself bleed. "But perhaps, despite your difficulties in relating to other people, you might make an adequate teacher. You are a brilliant and hardworking student, after all. And the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts here… Well, by the time you were ready to accept it, it is likely that it would be open."  
  
There was a long silence, as she attempted to regain some control over herself. When she spoke, her voice was as pretty and inflexible as Lucius' diamond.  
  
"I would rather die than spend a year more than I had to in this place."  
  
"Very well." His sigh was almost as heavy as he was, but Profuse did not seem unduly surprised. "Have it as you will. There are difficult and dark times ahead, that much is clear… and we can't always save all of you, even in Hufflepuff. It is a pity, but… You are dismissed, Miss Hanover."  
  
She turned and practically ran out of the room, closer to losing control than she had been in all her years at Hogwarts. How dare he… As if she needed some fat old Hufflepuff male to choose her future! Save her… the idea…  
  
She ran flat into the arms of a small, plump girl. "Cissy! Are you alright?"  
  
Her turmoil faded instantly, replaced by the unavoidable fact that Molly had her arms around her. The champagne tingle of involuntary lust was by now almost familiar enough to no longer be entirely unwanted. "I'm fine…" On an impulse, she leaned forward just a little, and deposited a kiss on Molly's round cheek. The other girl flushed with pleasure. "Thank you for asking."  
  
"I care about you, you know that." How could Molly say such things with so little seeming effort or embarrassment? How could it be so easy for her?  
  
"Yes. I do."  
  
They turned towards their next class, arms still loosely linked. Lucius' diamond flashed against the dull black of Molly's robes. Narcissa watched it all the way to Potions.  
  
~tbc~ 


	5. Hogwarts: Mirror, Mirror

~Elaborate Lives Chapter Five: Mirror, Mirror~  
  
Narcissa stood in front of the dormitory mirror in bras and knickers, critically examining her reflection. She had been. lax, lately. Was she imagining it, or was the sharp concave line from hip to waist and out again to her ribcage beginning to soften, the muscles of her long legs becoming slightly less defined? She bit her lip, trying not to make wrinkle- producing scowls.  
  
She had skimped too often on her daily workouts lately. And she knew precisely why, and wasn't sure whether she like the idea. It was one thing to admit to herself she was in love with a chubby, irritatingly nice Hufflepuff who was in love with someone else. Quite another thing to let the emotion control her life to the extent of jeopardising her figure.  
  
Especially when she got so little out of it. A few girlishly affectionate gestures at best. Molly was free with hugs. always had been, with her other girlfriends. and sometimes she would casually slip her hand into Narcissa's as they walked. And for some reason the other girl could not quite explain, the world would narrow down until the only real thing was the brushing of palm against palm, the mild pressure of interlaced fingers, the slightly sweaty heat of hand in hand.  
  
Oh, and Narcissa now had the chance to listen to a lot of gossip that wouldn't interest her in the slightest, except that it fell from lips she had kissed and wanted so much to kiss again. And oh, be honest with yourself, Narcissa, was infused with the warmth of the girl herself. She could prattle about her family and school all she wanted - somehow, Molly's personality leaked through the most mundane words. Even when she was angry at some injustice visited upon others and ranted about it, her righteous ardour was engaging. Fire and honey, as far from Narcissa's sterile world as it was possible to be.  
  
Narcissa had always known, deep inside, that she would become addicted to Molly's friendship if she let herself fall for a moment.  
  
She still wasn't certain why she had yielded. The incredible embarrassment of their one shared kiss should have been a barrier to intimacy, not an irresistible invitation. Except that she would be going to Lucius so soon, and he was Molly's polar opposite. She was. safe, in some way she was not ready to analyse. What she did and felt in this last term did not really count. She believed this in a small place of her heart she knew wouldn't not be able to hold an argument if she gave her mind much of a chance against it.  
  
The door to the room opened amidst her meditations, and the object of her obsession entered. Some tiny part of Narcissa still wanted to pose a little. just in the stupid desire to see if she could provoke any response. but unfortunately Molly was not alone. And Narcissa had no desire to turn Isis on.  
  
"Contemplating your true love?" the second arrival asked, her full lips quirking at one corner. Narcissa was almost sure that Molly kicked her ankle in response.  
  
She ignored the dark girl, and smiled at Molly instead. It was still strange, to smile at someone in greeting, but she was rapidly becoming used to it, if only for the way the other girl's brown eyes lit up. Just so long as she was not expected to smile at anybody else, she could live with it.  
  
"Isn't true love worth contemplating?" she asked lightly, and her smile grew wider as the roses of Molly's cheeks deepened. "Come here, Molly, I need your advice," she added. "Girl to girl." That replaced the blushing with more normally cheerful eagerness to be of help.  
  
"Anything I can do, for the great Narcissa Hanover." Molly slid an arm around her waist, in one of the caressing gestures that came so naturally to her. It felt curiously intimate to have her arm against the bare skin of her waist, even though in actual fact all Narcissa could feel was the cheap crackly fabric of Molly's robes.  
  
"Do you think I'm putting on weight?" It was all she could think of to say, to keep Molly by her side and her attention fixed on herself.  
  
Molly shrugged. She seemed slightly uncomfortable. "You look. nice. to me."  
  
Isis muttered something in which the words "vain," "pathetic" and possibly "anorexic" could be distinguished, but Molly shot her a hot glance, and she subsided, settling on her four poster bed with a book.  
  
"I think I'm gaining." Narcissa said stubbornly.  
  
"What's the matter, Narcissa? Afraid your rich husband won't want you if you're fat?" the girl on the bed asked, more lazily than spitefully. "You have a way to go before you need worry too much about giving that huge rock back."  
  
Narcissa stiffened. "Lucius has a right to expect what he." She almost said 'paid for,' and was aghast. That wasn't what the marriage was about at all."Chose in a wife," she finished lamely. "Besides, I think it's important to look after your feminine beauty," she added coldly, looking with calculated distaste at Isis' square body. Isis was the Hufflepuff Quidditch Goalkeeper, and was more sturdily built than delicate. Not that she was unattractive at all. But that was beside the point. Someone who rarely even wore makeup had no right to criticise someone like Narcissa, who took care of herself.  
  
Concentrating on her spite for Isis, she was taken aback when Molly suddenly pushed away from her. "I'll talk to you when you've finished examining yourself for a scrap of cellulite on your perfect body, okay?" she snapped, tossing bright hair.  
  
"Molly?" It was a weird feeling, having her friend so angry at her after the last few cosy months. "What's wrong?" Narcissa's internal voice jeered mockingly at her, both because what was wrong was very obvious, and because she sounded like a bewildered little girl, not her usual cool self.  
  
"If you need to worry about being overweight, what exactly does that make me? Do you ever consider other people's feelings for one second, Narcissa?" The angry words hung on the air for a moment, then Molly shook her head. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm happy as I am. I just wish you'd realise there were more important things in life than your bloody looks, that's all."  
  
"Oh, Narcissa doesn't mind your looks, either, Molly dear," Isis put in from her bed. She seemed to be enjoying the situation.  
  
Narcissa tried to block her out. She was more concerned with whether Molly was blinking through anger or to hold back tears. She felt sick suddenly, a chilly pulsation of regret in the pit of her stomach.  
  
She reached out and touched Molly's face with her fingertips, knowing the other girl would have no notion of how much difficulty was involved in the simple gesture. Narcissa had no physical vocabulary for affection. Right now, however, she was only too aware that words in themselves were insufficient remedy for her thoughtlessness.  
  
"I apologise," she said. Not easy words, even more than the caress came easily. "I didn't mean to hurt you. And you know. you know I think you're. better than beautiful."  
  
Molly did not move away, but her face was still bright with anger and hurt feelings, tinged with something uncomfortably close to scorn. "Do you even know what you mean by that?"  
  
Narcissa's hand dropped. It was natural to her to respond with cutting sarcasm to an attack like that. but not from Molly, she told herself. This was too important to ruin with cold temper. "I mean, you're." Inspiration hit, with a clarity that suggested that, after all, it was entirely true. "You look like yourself. And you know how much I. like. that. And I wish. I wish I was as happy with myself as you are."  
  
Molly's smile bloomed across her face, as promptly as an earned reward. "You're learning, Cissy dear." She opened her arms and gave her friend a forgiving hug.  
  
Narcissa was squeezed tight against yielding warmth. She wanted with every inch of her body to close her eyes and just relax into it. Somehow, she found words instead, easy sentimental words that were yet tense with the effort of saying them. "I'm glad you're not mad with me, Molly. It would have broken my heart to lose you."  
  
Molly leaned back in the embrace, lifted her shining head, and smiled right into her eyes. The detached part of Narcissa was asking something about what exactly Narcissa was learning - to find the right words to manipulate her "friend"? But the rest of her, the feeling girl, was drowning in brown eyes that were suddenly their tender, merry selves again.  
  
She did not really have to think about leaning forward. She would not even have thought she had moved, except that Molly's lips were now a whisper away from hers, so close she could taste the brown scent of tea and bergamot on her breath.  
  
She was going to kiss Molly again. That was inevitable. What was more, she - almost knew, almost - that Molly would kiss her back. She and Molly would have kissed without excuses of games or pity. And then - what would that mean? How could it not change everything? She could taste triumph as well as Earl Grey tea and desire and what was probably love.  
  
The very tip of her tongue touched her own lower lip. Molly was flushed, and Narcissa could sense her breathing harder, feel it through the way they were pressed together in the embrace. The smaller girl's lips parted slightly, as if involuntarily, and she expelled a breath like a silent sigh.  
  
Isis coughed. It sounded like a particularly bad failed Potions experiment. The heads of the two girls in the clinch whipped around to focus on her, now sitting upright in bristling disapproval.  
  
There was a stunned silence, and then Molly pushed away and left the room, muttering some apology. Narcissa was left standing staring after her, Isis' accusing gaze drilling holes in her back.  
  
It was not a particularly dignified situation. There was little Narcissa could do but gather up what remained of her pride, and sweep off herself.  
  
She certainly was not going to burst into disappointed tears.  
  
~tbc~  
  
(I just hope you won't all kill me after the next chapter.) 


End file.
